


Like Real People Do

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Mutantstuck [25]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Mutantstuck, sort of hurt/comfort?, yes this is self indulgent no you do not get to call me out on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 22:15:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21309475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: He probably leaves you waiting around half an hour. You're not good with time, at least not right now; you're not really up to doing anything other than staying still, (sort of) calmly curled up around Cal next to the wall in Jeff's bed. Eventually, though, you hear the front door open and then shut again, the sound of movement in the living room or in the kitchen for long enough for you to calm down about the new sounds—maybe five or ten minutes.Ambrose's fight or flight reflex is pretty much permanently set on flight at this point, but at least now he knows where to run to.
Relationships: Dad Egbert/Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider
Series: Mutantstuck [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1309922
Comments: 13
Kudos: 116





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> please forgive me for the stupid ass hozier title but i have feelings about these two okay

You're pretty sure that a mall bathroom is damn near the stupidest place you can think of to have an episode, but that didn't seem to really stop you. It'd be nice if you knew what the trigger was, but that bit's still sort of a mystery—could it have been the color of the walls, even if it wasn't the exact same shade as what you remember? Was it the sound of a door opening? No, that wasn't it, you've had that shit set you off maybe half a dozen times before D put his foot down and had Hal pick up lil' tiny bells to hang on every door in his house, sure, but mall bathrooms don't exactly _have_ that kind of doors. The stalls have doors, sure, but you could see all those, it was fine—

Yeah, it wasn't fine. Not at all. You come back to the color when you try to think about it. Green, not the same shade as the godawful wallpaper in your old workroom but not all that off either. Smooth 'n unmarked, clean, no stains yet, like whatever was gonna happen to you was just about to start. 

Not that you gave it a chance to do that. Your chest went tight and terrified, you just barely remembered to shut off the water in the sink and toss your keys to Dave as you passed him on the way out of the bathroom, and you were fuckin' _gone._

Don't remember much between there 'n here, either. Part of that's probably your speed—you forget, sometimes, that you haven't been collared since Dave broke the one that bastard put on you. You know you ran, and you know nobody even tried to stop you. 

Thank fuck you keep the car keys separate from everything else. That meant you can let yourself in and get safely locked in the house, lock yourself in Jeff's room and retrieve the box you stashed under his dresser, get yourself curled on the bed around Cal and at least a lil' bit settled before you have to start sending texts. 

Which you do. After a couple minutes of just lying here and hugging the puppet up to your chest like you're ten years old again. 

Anyway. One text copied and pasted to D, Dave, and the twins—just a bare bones explanation that you're alive, you're not kidnapped or whatever the fuck, you're at Egbert's place and you may or may not be coming home tonight depending on when you feel like you can move without, y'know. Crushing fear. 

The text to Jeff is a lil' bit different, though. 

royaltyReincarnate (RR) started pestering pipeFanatic (PF)!

RR: So yeah, I'm in your room.  
RR: Not in a Friday the 13th kinda way though, just. uhhh,  
RR: It ain't good but it ain't murdery not good? 

PF: ...hm.  
PF: Can I call you? 

RR: Uh.  
RR: Not so sure I can talk right now.   
RR: Shaky. 

PF: Were you with D?

RR: No, with the kids. At the mall.   
RR: Pretty sure they're still there, but they're okay. Dave's got his license and the keys, I didn't fuckin. Strand him, I swear.

PF: We're going to focus on you right now, Ambrose.

RR: Dammit, I thought I was gonna get away with not having to talk about it.

PF: Oh, you still might. You know I have a soft spot for you.

RR: Thank fuck you do.  
RR: I sorta flipped out at the mall a bit.

PF: "A bit." 

RR: Don't call me out, alright?  
RR: It's been a rough day.

PF: You know I wouldn't push you further than you can handle, don't worry.  
PF: I'm halfway through shopping; can you stay put for another half hour or so?

RR: Oh, I ain't going anywhere.

PF: I'm not sure it's really appropriate to say "good" to that, but...good. I'll be there in half an hour.

You should probably say something else to that. Thank him, maybe—that's what somebody normal would do, right? Or like, tell him you love him. Something like that. Something. Something _normal_.

But. 

royaltyReincarnate (RR) stopped pestering pipeFanatic (PF)!

God fucking dammit, Ambrose.

* * *

He probably leaves you waiting around half an hour. You're not good with time, at least not right now; you're not really up to doing anything other than staying still, (sort of) calmly curled up around Cal next to the wall in Jeff's bed. Eventually, though, you hear the front door open and then shut again, the sound of movement in the living room or in the kitchen for long enough for you to calm down about the new sounds—maybe five or ten minutes. 

Then the door opens. Maybe you didn't lock it, or maybe Jeff just knows how to get around shit in his own damn house. This door ain't belled like the ones in your bro's house, either; there's no tiny jingle to snap you out of the way your body tenses, how your heart skips a beat and then speeds way up, the wave of pure fear— 

"Ambrose?" Jeff's hand comes down on your shoulder, letting you know that he's here, that it's just him. When you remember to inhale, he reaches up to pet through your half-grown-out hair. "Is there room?" 

"Mhm." You still don't know if you can talk. You don't really want to try. This is Jeff, though; you don't need to. 

He sits down without taking his hand off your head, swings his legs up and settles to lay next to you, behind you, one arm across your side and over your chest, pulling himself closer to you or you closer to him, the other hand coming up to keep smoothing your hair down. It's fucked up, because you _know_ you're the one who can protect him from shit, but he makes you feel so god damn _safe._

"You're all right," he whispers, and you _have_ to close your eyes. You have to. "It's going to be all right. Do you know where you are?" 

He'd let you let it be rhetorical. He'd let you not answer, he'd let you just say yes or no. But— "Wi' you." 

"You're with me. No one else. Everyone's safe." 

That's true. Dave's safe, the rest of 'em are fine...that's not something you doubted this time. Thank fucking god; you'd probably either still be running or struggling to keep Dave in your line of sight without panicking if you'd lost sight of that lil' truth. But you know that, so right now what you need is...

"Stay." 

Jeff laughs, a just barely more emphatic breath against your ear. Didn't you use to be the big spoon? Once upon a fucking time? "You're in _my_ bed, Ambrose—where do you think I'm going to go?" 

It's not an attack. From anyone else it'd be an attack, but this is Jeff. This is your Egbert. He wouldn't attack you. He'd never do that. 

Maybe your body reacts to it even if your mind doesn't, though, because his hand goes still in your hair. "Ambrose?" 

"Fine. 's okay. 'm fine." 

The sound he makes is soft and doubtful. "Are you breathing?" 

Now, on the surface that sounds like a stupid question, but this isn't the first time you've come to him like this. You know what he means, what's expected of you—it's not _just_ a stupid question, it's a request for mindfulness. Take a second, focus on the passage of air in, out, in again. Count it, be aware of it, then answer him. 

"I'm breathing." 

"What happened?" 

"I—I panicked. Ran back here. Dave has my keys, he's okay, I swear I didn't just ditch him—" 

"Ambrose, he has a cellphone and Roxy can open a portal to virtually anywhere. He'd be fine anyway." His lips brush agains the side of your neck, soft and warmer than your skin. "But it does save a trip to go get the car, at least...what are you thinking now?" 

Unlike the first question, this one's meant to be answered with a minimum of consideration—otherwise you're never gonna end up giving him an honest answer. "Didn't I use to be the big spoon?" 

This time, you feel his laugh where his chest's pressed up against your back, faint vibration through that contact. "When you were upset? No. I don't think you ever let me just hold you like this back then." 

"Oh. Yeah." You gotta think about that for a minute, sort out how you feel about it. "You miss it?" 

"What?" 

"Me tryin' to hop on your dick every time I got fucked up." 

"I love you and I'm not going to say that wasn't fun, but you have no _idea_ how stressful that specific aspect of our relationship was, Ambrose." 

"...goddamnit." 

"It's alright. You can't really help how you were." 

And there's the guilt. There's the fucking guilt. "...wasn't me." 

"Ambrose." 

Fuck. "Can't have it both ways, Jeff." You can feel your voice trying to waver, how your eyes are starting to burn. You squeeze them shut and keep talking anyway like the stubborn ass you are. "Either it was me with you or it w—it was me with Dave, you can't—" 

He shushes you there, but that's beside the point; you're done talking right now anyway. What he _doesn't_ do is move to wipe at your face, which is good because you're not so sure you could handle that; you'll do it your god damn self. 

Eventually you admit that you're not doing a good job at doing it your god damn self and quit swiping at your eyes. Jeff finds your hand as soon as you lower it from your face, lacing his fingers through yours and squeezing gently. 

Shit. Fuck. Goddamn. Those are _emotions_ and you don't—you can't—shit. 

"Do you miss it?" you hear yourself mumble. Which is _stupid_—of fuckin' course there's gonna be shit he misses from back then and you don't know if you can handle hearing the list of what exactly it is—

"Don't be an idiot." Jeff answers back just as softly as you, pressing another kiss to the side of your neck—right over a scar, now what you think of it. Then again, most places on your body are scarred at this point; your healing factor didn't take care of all of what your double did to you. Got something to do with trauma having components beyond physical, shit that's harder to just wipe away, according to Wade. "There's nothing to miss." 

You're gonna argue with that. You are going to argue with that—

No. You're not. Just...believe him, for a moment. For this specific moment. 

"Egbert?" 

"Strider?" 

" 's cheesy, but I love you." 

"Mmm. Very cheesy. I love you too, Ambrose." He shifts a bit behind you, pressing in closer and wrapping his arm more securely around your chest, pushing Cal over so the puppet's eyes aren't digging into his arm. "But I do have to get up and start dinner in about fifteen minutes." 

"Nuh-uh. Stay put; I'll buy pizza?" 

"...you _know_ that's not an answer to everything." 

"I mean, yeah, but it's a decent answer to _dinner._ 'n the kids'll love it." 

Jeff laughs again, and you know you've convinced him. Funny, how good it feels to know he won't leave you for a while yet.


End file.
